


Just One More?

by ohgodmyeyes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blackheads, Dominant Anakin, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, One Shot, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Padawan Reader, Pimple Popping, Reader-Insert, Teen Romance, Whiteheads, pimples, pus, weird reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: You and Anakin like to see one another in secret as often as you can.Tonight you’ve met up in your room at the Temple, and he has allowed you to engage in one of your favourite activities, much to his own chagrin.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Just One More?

“Do you have to do this?” Anakin asked you as you sat behind him on your bed. You were in the Temple on Coruscant, and he’d snuck into your room after dark, as he had come into the habit of doing.

“Yes.” You didn’t, really, but this didn’t cause him any real harm... and you absolutely could not get enough of it.

“But it hurts!” He was so cute when he whined.

“You’ve been through worse,” you reminded him, as you retrieved his braid from over his shoulder and began to twirl it around your fingers.

“I know, but—”

“Do you want me to tell Master Obi-Wan about that sketchy pod race you took me to?” You would never have done such a thing (you loved watching the races), but Anakin didn’t know that.

“No! But—” He certainly was persistent.

“Then let me get just this _one._ ”

“It’s _never_ ‘just this one’.” He was right, but...

“Come _on,_ Ani...”

Your sweet, reluctant fellow Padawan grumbled, but he did acquiesce. “Fine,” he said, “but you’ll owe me when you’re done.”

You couldn’t help but make a gleeful noise as you released his braid and situated yourself to do what you’d been begging him to do... which was, of course, squeeze every last bit of pus from the sizeable blackhead which had formed just above Anakin’s left shoulder blade. There were a couple of others on his back that were similar to it (albeit smaller), along with a tiny-yet-delightful cluster of whiteheads along the bottom part of his spine. The incredibly conspicuous little cyst you’d currently set your sights on, however, was the best of all of them.

If he really was only going to let you get one, you knew that this was the one it had to be.

“Stay still, okay?” You placed one of your index fingers on each side of the delightful little eruption, and you began to squeeze.

“Ow!” He shouted, and the most fascinating string of semi-solid white discharge spewed from the centre of it. Some of the matter flew through the air with such velocity that you simply lost track of it; a bit of it ended up on your nail, which you held up beside Anakin’s face.

“Do you wanna see it?”

“No! I don’t! What’s wrong with you?” He tensed his shoulders, then relaxed them. He was no worse-off than before; he wasn’t even bleeding.

“Whatever it is, it keeps you coming back, doesn’t it?” You knew he could hear your smile in your voice.

“...Are you done, then?”

“One more,” you said.

“It’s always ‘one more’!” He was right, really, but it wasn’t as though he were getting up to leave.

“Pleeeeease?”

He hesitated quietly a moment, and then growled his concession, _”Get it over with!”_

You made another happy noise; told him, “Thank you, Ani!” and went to work on that neat little grouping of whiteheads toward which you couldn’t help being drawn.

You had a special technique for these particular kinds of pimples; they were among your favourites. You placed your thumbnail at the edge of the tiny conglomeration, pressed down gently, and slid the sharpest part of it across the field of bumps. They exploded festively as you went along; you could actually hear them snap as they released their fluids. Again, some of it ended up in the air; some ended up on your nail... and once more, too, you held it up to the side of his face and asked him if he wanted to see.

 _”No!_ Is that it, now?” He sounded as if he were very close to being finished with this. You wiped your nail on the sheets beside you— you’d have to wash them in the morning, anyway. 

“Can I get the little blackheads, too?”

“Ugh. How many of them are there?”

“Not many.”

He was quiet again; thinking— maybe about whether this was worth it to him or not. It must have been, because he answered finally with, “Hurry it up— and remember what I said about you owing me.”

“I’ll be fast!” you promised, and you were: You went to each of the tiny blackheads you’d seen when you’d scanned his back for blemishes initially (a combination of being sweaty, wearing a wool tunic, and being a teenager produced new ones every time you got to see him); and began to pop them carefully. Although the last of your work went by quickly, you enjoyed every second of it. Some of the pus was close to bone-hard from how long it had been sitting underneath the top layer of his skin before making itself obvious to you; some of it was as soft and viscous as what you’d extracted from that delightful bushel of whiteheads on the lower part of his back.

All of them were lots of fun, though, and when you’d finally rid him of the last of the little blights upon his muscular, alabaster beauty, you told him, “There— you’re still alive. Was that really so bad, Ani?”

He turned so that he was facing you on the bed. You could see a glint of something in his eye you couldn’t quite identify, and a trace of savagery in the grin he flashed before he said in response, “Whether it was or not... if you’re finished, it’s my turn, right?”

You gave him a look. “Your ‘turn’?” Did he mean he wanted to scan your back for zits?

That time he did not answer you with words or anything like them; instead, he pounced like a panther so that he was pinning you to the bed. His braid hung down beautifully; it was nearly long enough, in fact, to tickle your neck as he suspended himself over you. You’d have loved to tug on it, or run your fingers through the short and lovely crop of messy blonde atop his head; however, you couldn’t even begin to move. He tightened his hold on you anyhow, and smiled at your helplessness beneath him.

 _”My turn,”_ he reiterated. “You got something you wanted, and so I’m going to take something I want, now. Does that sound fair?”

A twinge of nervousness mingled with a flood of excitement; you said as you squirmed, “It depends on what you want.”

He laughed at that, and you felt his braid come to rest on your bare skin as he leaned down to inform you closely, _”No it doesn’t.”_

You supposed he was right.

As if to confirm, then, Anakin went to work at taking exactly what he wanted from you in return for the brief command he’d allowed you to have over his body. You might have resisted, but you knew it was useless.

Anyway, you were the one who had started this to begin with.


End file.
